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LonelyI look at the stars
Hoping to see something
Looking back at me.
But its just echoes
Of dead and dying
Suns and worlds.
Nothing really cares.
There is no design,
No grand plans to
Make the universe spin.
There's only darkness,
Suffocating and cold,
Consuming the light.
Resting In NatureGreen leaves, soft wind,
The gentle whisper of the breeze.
Frogs croak, Birds sing,
The water reflects the warmth of the Sky.
Calm breathing, light sighing,
The boy and the girl lie calmly in the grass.
Midday Mildness, Soft shade,
Trees provide the greatest shields.
Light shifting, kind yawning,
The Lovers stir in their sleep.
A summer day to never forget.
A nature orchestra providing the lightest music.
A day shared, Hands linked,
The lovers sleep in peace.
You always tell me the same storyHe's in love with a scene from the winter
that occurs on a trip to Washington,
when the dark is constant and the trees jog
like legends alongside the highway;
as his eyes fall half-sleep but his senses remain
taut and vigilant, sweating on the wheel,
pitching nerve to the sound of branches cracking,
bristling under his wind-torn jacket;
the time of evening when the sunset rests
at its very highest, bright and sudden as Heaven,
an aureate glow around the birdsongs,
the stench of roadkill muted by a golden frost;
a taste of nirvana,
an instruction of faith,
the blatant existence of God,
lost as soon as he rounds the bend.
On days like thisOn days like this,
I like to think
About just how lucky I am.
How lucky I am
To have food
And a roof over my head.
How lucky I am
To have a beating heart
And air in my lungs.
How I lucky I am
To even have been born.
Out of every sperm and egg,
And every unknown miscarriage,
I survived. We all did.
That in itself is amazing.
Then add on that life itself
Is amazing and wonderful.
How many systems
Must work in tandem
To keep me alive?
If one single DNA strand
Were to replicate wrong
My life would be irreparably damaged.
If my temperature is off
By just the variance between in and out,
These things astound me.
RandomSiren sing me that beautiful
song of love, death and tragedy.
of war that was outplaced by love
are other things. Oh siren sing me
that song that has kept you singing,
the song that kept you breathing, the
song that every man, woman and child
would like to hear.
Wishing for WingsI was born a caterpillar...
Plump and cute and green.
You might think it would be great,
But that was not my dream!
Every day the birds came
The prettiest of things.
Though they want to eat me,
I can't help but watch those wings!
Every night I wish
On the first star in the sky
Please oh please just give me
Wings so I can fly!
In the morning I'd wake up
And through the trees I'd climb...
If I had wings I wouldn't crawl,
A dumb inch at a time.
I never stopped the wishing,
I never gave up hope...
Then happened this strange thing...
Did not think I could cope!
All the sky still left to see...
And mother tells me "Dear,"
"It's time for you t
Morning CallMorning Call
Lying half-awake in bed
The soft, tender form of my darling touching me
To my delight, the trill of the bugle
The tumult of the rifles
Had been stilled by the rain
The only sound i heard
Through the soft, quiet swish of my fan
Was the soft and silent swish of the late summer rain
I lay in bed to listen
Until 9 AM
The Song of the WolfEnlighten me, moon
For your beauty gives me strength
Enlighten me, stars
For your vastness across the sky gives me freedom
Enlighten me, earth
For your energy gives me life
Enlighten me, universe
For I am the Great Wolf
This Strange LandThis strange land
Where the breeze kisses my skin
And runs its cool fingers
Through my hair.
Where the long grass ripples
Against the wind
Like the gentle waves of a sea.
This strange land
Where the trees stand tall and mighty
With arms reaching over the gravel path
As if attempting to grab me.
Where the pines huddle closely together
Whispering amongst each other
In a language I do not understand.
This strange land
Where the sweet voices of birds
Paint the wind
With vivacious tunes
Where a heartbeat is heard
From within the earth
My Mother's Day Gift: A Story of a MotherThis Is a Story of a mother, a mother of humble orgins who toiled hard under the hot Dominican Sun as a poor farm girl.
Armed with a dream she moved to America with hopes for a better life.
With great ambition she worked hard in school and and worked hard in employment. During that time she found the man of her dreams, one who shares her own.
They marry and supported each other in their quest to make their dreams come true. Both working in between school.
Soon they had a child, to embody their dreams. Even with death threatening to take their child their resolve and will was unwavering. Through prayer and faith their child lived.
The mother continued her work in school and soon graduated. She soon got a job that gave her family the edge to advance in society and not know poverty.
This mother became mentor, confidante, friend, and parent to what became her children. Because of her wisdom and guidance, she now has a child in college, her eldest a graduate, a
Lonely Girl and Her WillowLonely Girl was her name, the name she came to take,
She looked around with a frown and said, “I need a break.”
The grass would dance, the sky was blue, whenever she came to see,
The lively green old crying scene, her tall old weeping willow tree.
Her notes would travel far away, up into the clouds,
And made her set aside her upset mind into joyous shrouds.
Underneath its shadows, the years began to flee,
“Why does it seem my only dream always slips away from me?”
Lonely Girl was done, the title went away,
She skipped and hopped, she zipped and zopped with others in her play.
Yet never letting go, the girl held to the
light is dark and dark is lightHave you eaten from the fruits of insanity?
have you not yet bitten into the bitter sweet fruit of sins that lay upon truth?
or are you still living in the safety of a lye,
for I have moved on
while you are still hiding in the blackness of the day
I am bathing under the light of the shade
and though you are blind by the hellish suns rays
I can see
So I will take you by the hand and lead your wandering soul down the proper path of darkness
not the path of son and truth but the path of lies death and gloom
for this is the path of safty
this path was built for you...
She's ripping her jeans off at the thighs.Pulling out her hemp flip flops.
Bikinis under tank tops are tied.Preparing for the heat of summer.
She dances with the breeze, and runs to the sea. With a free laugh in she jumps.
Waves crash overhead, but she knows how to tread the trails of this old friend.
That girl is on the loose again.
Bare skin on sand, shoes dangle in hand. Her hair dripping with salt water.
She falls on the beach and looks at her feet. White sand is coating like sugar.
She lays her head back and starts to relax,to the sounds of her soothing ocean.
Breathing in the scent of salt drying on sun warmed skin.
The Beautiful ClownsThere is another one. Tall blond, shutter-shade sunglasses, pink novelty tee, and jeans that show me too much ass. We are trying to march down this boulevard to make a scene. Me and my gang, we aren't funny and are not here to chase tail, even if we did find it mildly attractive. Pocka-dots and an ironic sense of humor. When the clowns roll walk into where you live, you will find that you were on our turf all along.
This was a long time coming. We should have just taken what was ours. We had a girl selling on a street corner. Snow, not ass, we don't sell ass. We give stupid people stuff that keeps them stupid and there is no woman who deserv
Perfect waste: part onePerfect waste
I want you to know that you are beautiful. When you sleep the world rests under your neck and its weight turns to down and the soft moonlight gently lights your face as not to disturb your soft radiance. When you are happy my soul spins inside my magmatic chest and lurches me forward that I may cherish every moment. When you are focused nothing else in the room can stand staying on task. When you hide your face time itself stops as a flowing river would halt and form a lake. When you walk the ground convulses to meet your foot and tenuously holds up your mortal frame.
Perfection is a stale, dull, and repe
Literal LoveThere is a column of love between me and you
Our warmth fills it and connects us
Love wraps my head. A halo of joy that you have given me
I look at my chest and yours
Imagining your heart beating
I have had this with with some
You have had this others
Asleep you moan and wrap your arms around me
I have never been so warm
our love envelopes us
Heat is plenteous. My foot slips out of our covers to the frigid air
I will always return to this place in the past
My mind is here now but I feel the crowd of future memory
Our love ties us through time
Under this blanket the world is exiled
Their rules do not stop our union
The Fable of Girl and LoverThere was a girl who assumed her boyfriends personalities as masks. She liked, as they liked and listened, as they listened. One day, she had a new and exciting Lover. Truer than any who had come before. They danced as never before. They performed amazing feats for one another and wove tails worthy to be told and remembered. They knew each other, so well, that when she took him to be her mask, it did not fit. It itched and bothered her judgement. She discovered that it was not him but a mask that he wore. She called him a hypocrite for not calling her a whore. The lover was disgusting and unable to provide in her eyes, now. But. His words and
Nina HaringLooking up I saw the most adorable angry woman I could have ever imagined. Her brown hair was half straightened and bounced with every empassioned step. She stopped with the last minute frustration that comes when the better voice in your head reminds you to always stop before crossing a road. Her red dress fluttered forward as she brought her body to a stop, seeming to balance on her toes. the skirt bounced and reacted to to the blue jeans she had worn underneath. Aware of of my stare, she gritted her teeth tightening her ruby red lips and made an effort to hide her flower accented dress with her black leather jacket.
As she stepped into th
Snow FallThe perfect snow drifts perilously to the earth. It twirls in the wind. Twisting in the air as the heat pushes past. the wind is always pouring from among high in an effort to find balance. The only result is turbulence. Breath of desperate pleas beat flakes and trees alike as the fall continues. Landing is most dreadful. There is no control for the frozen patterns. No means of reason to attempt to succeed. Cars blaring horns blaze on the ground. It gets close and the wind meets it and bends to the curvature of the hood. Flakes are tossed on a wave of movement. Unseeing and caring. Some lose their majestic form as they lie in puddles. They la
The TypewriterThe Typewriter
It began and ended with a word.
Not a particularly strong or powerful word, but a word that changed everything. It wasn't too long or difficult to spell. It wasn't uncommon either. In fact, it was a perfectly ordinary word, but, I suppose, its commonplace origin is what made it so special.
I loved that word.
But the word doesn't mean much without the story along with it and I was always one for telling good stories.
I ignored the call from the other room and remained seated. That tone wasn't unfamiliar. Taking a bite from my toast, I waited for him to call again. It wouldn't be more than ten—
"Sammy! Come q
I wonder if you're enjoying
the curvature of her back.
The spine, a row of ossified crowns
crowded and curved around that defining neural superhighway;
that extension cord,
adventurously connecting the visceral
to the peripheral.
The horseshoe crab vertebrae
scuttle to break through skin at your touch;
a defining shiver.
I see your hands
around the rounded hills of her shoulders.
Scapulae jutting out with the extremity of the bend,
like a chicken's wings.
And the bands of these dorsal muscles
stand up like wings,
cast shadows in the dimples of the pelvis that she lifts;
that will fold o
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More